


Have You seen This Man?

by BBCotaku



Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Adulting is hard, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Depression, Group Therapy, M/M, No one can function, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-06-25 05:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19739290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBCotaku/pseuds/BBCotaku
Summary: "Virgil had known about Thomas for as long as he could remember. He’d started off as an imaginary friend. Someone who Virgil could talk to when no one else would listen, the only person who wouldn’t tell him he was overreacting when people stole his cookies in kindergarten, the person who would nod knowingly when Virgil admitted just how pretty Zack from Saved by the Bell really was.The thing was, you were supposed to grow out of imaginary friends, but as his classmates left their’s behind, Virgil found that he simply couldn’t shake Thomas. No matter how hard he tried, new scenarios, facts, people and places kept popping into his head. Thomas was his safe place and he couldn’t just abandon that. No matter how clinically insane it made him."





	1. New Day, Same Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. New fic when I haven't even finished the old one. 
> 
> I will be updating this fic every two weeks (alternating with my Dear Evan Hansen fic 'Trying Through the Trauma').
> 
> This AU originally belonged to @skeleton-wives-and-ghost-widows on tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks to @Maya-Zulf and Rise-again-2001 for helping me edit. 
> 
> Title comes from the Creepypasta "Have you seen this man?"

“Can you not?” Virgil kicked the back of his shopping cart and winced as the metal rattled. A bolt of pain shot through his toes. The damn thing was broken, he’d known the moment he started pushing it. Overuse had caused the front left wheel to stick which made turning the cart without rearing off course nearly impossible. He couldn’t just pull it out the way and take another, people would think he was entitled, so, he’d just decided to deal with it.

At first, Virgil had just found the cart’s weird turns slightly embarrassing, but now that the wheel refused to move all together, he felt about ready to die. 

The shop was pretty much empty as far as customers went (most people didn't do their weekly shop at quarter-past-seven in the morning, after all), but Virgil could tell _someone_ was laughing at him. It was like a sixth sense, one that told him that the cashier behind the till the woman packing shelves and the security guard watching the CCTV recording were all definitely making fun of him. Let’s all laugh at the skinny kid who can't push a fucking shopping cart.

This was the exact reason he usually ordered his groceries online. Sure, they’d send him the wrong stuff from time to time (like the time they thought a dragon fruit was a good replacement for Cheerios) but at least he didn't have to deal with...this. 

Virgil felt a warm blush work its way up the back of his neck, reaching his cheeks and ears. He pulled up his hood to hide it, though that really only drew more attention to himself. Now he looked like a stereotypical shoplifter. Great. 

This, the feeling of nakedness and nervousness, was enough for Virgil to give up on the cart. He gathered his banquet of Tv-dinners and pot noodles in his arms and made his way over to the counter, practically throwing the food onto the conveyor belt. 

“Bad night?” The cashier asked, or at least Virgil assumed that was what they were saying. He couldn't really hear much over the blaring sounds pumping from his headphones. Papa Roach was good for blocking out the world, not so good for conversation. 

Virgil kept his mouth firmly shut and allowed his eyes to wander. His gaze flicked from produce to the climbing price of his groceries, to the advertisement banners hanging from the ceiling like thick, unruly vines.

_Save the world!_

_Receive a free Marvel pin with each $20 spent!_

Virgil had two problems with this deal: firstly he was pretty sure no one could save the world with pins, superhero-themed or not. Secondly, if he had to spend twenty dollars to receive them, they weren't free. That was just a fact.

Still, he found himself counting up the total cost of his items in his head. Twenty-one dollars and fifty-two cents. Just enough for one. 

He bit his lip, letting his headphones rest on the back of his neck. “H-hey.” 

No reply, the cashier just started loading items into paper bags. 

Virgil tried again. “Hey!” 

The cashier’s head snapped to face him, their brows raised in surprise. Shit. He'd shouted. Why the fuck had he shouted?!

“Could I…” Virgil’s eyes turned to the floor. “Could I get one of those pins?” 

The eyebrows rose even higher up the cashier’s forehead. 

“For...not for me!” Virgil clarified quickly, wracking his brain for a reason for a grown man to want a kids’ toy. “For my nephew.” 

The eyebrows climbed higher, it was clear that the cashier didn't believe a word he was saying. 

_I need more detail,_ Virgil told himself. _What are things uncles say? A name should do it. Just a name._ He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Thomas loves all that dumb stuff. Comics, I mean.”

Of all the names he had to pick that one. Virgil scratched the back of his neck. 

“Twenty-one fifty-two,” the cashier deadpanned. 

“What?”

“You gotta pay before I can give you anything.” 

_Fuck_. “Right.” Virgil fumbled for his wallet. Black leather. Holley. Frayed. He handed over the money and got a small plastic packet the size of a matchbox slipped into his shopping bag in return. He left the shop as quickly as possible, painfully aware of how much his back was slouched, how far his shoulders were raised, how weird he looked doing his grocery shopping at eight in the morning. 

_Do frozen pizzas count as weapons?_ Virgil wondered as he dragged his feet through the quiet streets. The area wasn’t bad per se Just, well, cheap. And old. And shitty. The kind of area with years-old concert posters gummed to the walls and newspaper over shop windows. Okay, yeah, maybe it was kind of bad. 

Virgil stood at the curb and stared blankly for a moment as he waited for the handful of cars to pass him by. They were definitely staring at him through the windshield. Staring at his hair. 

He ran a hand through it. The purple had been kind of a rash decision. He’d had a dream where Thomas had dyed his hair and, well, it looked pretty good--very good, actually. He’d figured it would look good on him too--and it did. It just meant that he stuck out a bit more than usual. 

With a groan, Virgil rubbed his eyes. _Just a few more hours_ , he told himself. _Three at most, and then you can sleep._

\---

Virgil had been to a total of three therapists in his lifetime. One when he was twelve, back when shit really started to hit the fan (a woman with a black bucket fringe who’d diagnosed him with ‘attention-seeking-teenager’), one the following week (a man with a proper Freudian beard who’d landed Virgil with the ‘general anxiety disorder’ stamp of shame) and, finally, Dr. Emile Picani. 

Picani’s office was in the dead centre of town, crammed between real-estate and a coffee shop. All Virgil had to do was go through the double doors, walk up two flights of stairs and _voila!_

Easy. Simple. An idiot could do it. 

But Virgil couldn’t, mostly because of the giant sloth standing in his way. 

The mascot stood outside the coffee shop, a collection of flyers grasped between it’s plush, mitten hands. 

Masks on their own were enough to make Virgil burst out in a cold sweat. You didn’t know who was behind them, what they were thinking, whether they were friend or foe. Mascot costumes were just next-level masks. Thomas had been alright around them, on the outside at least. Thomas would have probably hugged them and taken a picture for Instagram or maybe even ask if he could make a vine. He’d be scared, but he wouldn’t be a useless lump of shit like Virgil. 

He could picture it so easily. Thomas in his _Steven Universe_ shirt, a wide and goofy grin on his lips, arm outstretched, phone in hand.

Virgil pulled his hood up and turned up his music, letting Gerard Way’s voice thud against his eardrums. _Look at your feet. Just don’t catch its eye and it won’t approach you. It can’t, legally, right? Someone could sue for harassment or something like that. Just, don’t run, people will think you’re weird if you run. Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths._

A furry hand waved in front of his face. 

Virgil jumped back, his heart in his throat. His hand balled into a fist and it took all of his effort not to punch this fucker square in his face. 

The sloth tilted its head to the side and held out one of the flyers; a coupon for half off a cup of coffee. It had a similar cartoon sloth on it, wrapped in a red scarf and sipping from a steaming mug.

Virgil swallowed hard. “Uh. I’m fine, thanks.” He focused his gaze on the doors to Dr Picani’s office. Just a few more steps. 

The sloth waved the flyer again. Why didn’t it say something? 

“I said I’m fine.” 

The Sloth’s head lowered, it almost seemed sad. 

Virgil clenched his jaw and swiped the paper from the furry paws, moving as quickly as his legs would carry him towards the doors. 

\---

Dr Picani hummed the opening to _Sesame Street_ as he pushed open the door, a wide grin spreading from ear to ear. “Virgil!” He always had a way of sounding surprised to see you. 

Virgil shifted on the couch. “Hi, Dr Picani.” 

“Look at your hair! It looks great. And is that a Captain Marvel pin I see on your bag…” the doctor cocked his head. “You alright? You look pink as a starfish.” Picani settled into his usual seat as he spoke, his smile never wavering. 

Virgil put a hand to his cheek. His skin felt warm. “Yeah. Had to run for a bus.” 

Picani shot back up. “Oh. I’ll get you some water then.”

_Shit. Shit. Shit._ “No, no. It’s alright...uh. Doc.” 

“I insist. I’ll be right back.” 

Virgil held back a groan. Of all the people in the world he knew the last person he should be lying to was his therapist, he just couldn’t help himself. He pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and looked aimlessly around the room. 

It would be easy to assume Dr Picani was exclusively a child psychologist given the number of cartoon memorabilia littering his office. _Spongebob_ “Keep Calm and Carry On” posters, _Disney_ busts and mugs, little statues of each of the emotions from _Inside Out_ , three entire shelves of _Pop Vinyls,_ the works. Picani’s pride and joy, however, was the corkboard of drawings hanging right above his chair. Most of them were little kids’ drawings, crappy scribbles that could be recognised as the good doctor if you squinted. There were a few poems too, some typed, some not. Most of it had been committed to Virgil’s memory over his three sessions with Picani (eye contact wasn’t his strong suit). A new picture had been pinned up at some point in the week, too good to be done by a kid. Practically photo-realistic; a graphite face grinned at Virgil, head cocked ever-so-slightly to the side, one hand out of frame and holding a phone, the other raised in a peace sign. 

Virgil clambered to his feet, just staring. _I’m dreaming._ He knocked a fist against his cheek. It hurt. _Okay. I’m hallucinating. I’ve snapped._ He crossed the room and gingerly reached out, running his finger against the smooth paper. It certainly felt real. Solid. But it couldn’t be real. It simply couldn’t. 

“Nice picture, huh?” Picani’s voice made him start. 

Virgil whirled around. “U-Uh. Yeah. Yeah.” 

The doctor set two _Star vs the Forces of Evil_ cups down on a coffee table. He gestured to the corkboard. “One of my other patients gave it to me yesterday.” 

“Yeah?” Virgil looked back at the board. 

“Yeah! Isn’t it great? He’s self-taught too.” 

His lip warbled. “It’s…” _Thomas!_ He wanted to scream. _That’s him! That’s Thomas!_

Virgil had known about Thomas for as long as he could remember. He’d started off as an imaginary friend. Someone who Virgil could talk to when no one else would listen, the only person who wouldn’t tell him he was overreacting when people stole his cookies in kindergarten, the person who would nod knowingly when Virgil admitted just how pretty Zack from _Saved by the Bell_ really was. 

The thing was, you were supposed to grow out of imaginary friends, but as his classmates left their’s behind, Virgil found that he simply couldn’t shake Thomas. No matter how hard he tried, new scenarios, facts, people and places kept popping into his head. Thomas was his safe place and he couldn’t just abandon that. No matter how clinically insane it made him.

“Hellooo, ground control to Major Virgil?” 

He blinked himself back to reality. “Huh?” 

“I said I wanted to talk to you about it.” 

“About what?” 

Picani chuckled. “The picture, of course.” 

Virgil narrowed his eyes and sat back down on the couch. His took one of the cups, mostly just to have something to hold. “Isn’t there, like, some patient-doctor confidentiality thing?” he asked. “You can’t talk about other patients.”

“Not usually, no,” Picani nodded. “Not unless I have their permission, which I do.” 

Virgil’s stomach twisted. “Did you tell them about me?” he asked before he could stop himself. 

“No, no! Of course not.” Picani’s smile turned somewhat reassuring. “I want to set up a group therapy session.”

Virgil was going to throw up. It was bad enough having to talk about his feelings to one person, but a group? A group who could easily go home and talk to their family about him behind his back? 

_Hey mom, this one kid at therapy today was so weird…_

“Why?!” The word exploded from his mouth before he could stop it.

“Try and lower your voice a bit, Virgil. Deep breaths In. Like a box, remember? Four seconds in...hold...four seconds out.”

Virgil did as the doctor said. 

Picani waited a moment before he spoke again “They all...Well…” Picani looked back to the board. “They’re all--” 

‘They’ _God. It wasn’t just one person. Shit. Shit. Shit._

“--They’ve all had experiences to yours and I think it would really help you to interact with people going through the same stuff.”

_Like mine?!_ Virgil screamed silently. _That is mine! That’s Thomas!_

He swallowed hard. “Uh. Yeah,” was all he could manage. 

“Soooo?” Picani practically sang the word. “What do you think? They’re all nice, I promise--and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

Yeah. That was bullshit. When people told Virgil ‘you don’t have to’ they meant ‘if you don’t I’m gonna kick your teeth in’. 

He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, still staring at Thomas. The picture itself was in black and white, but Virgil could visualise the colours: brown hair, hazel eyes, dark pink shirt. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine standing behind Thomas in the photo, the exact case of his phone. “Will the person who drew that be there?” 

“Oh, you wanna meet the artist, huh?”

“Something like that.” 

“Well. You’re in luck, he’s already agreed to come. I’m sure you two would get along like a house on fire. Best of friends! Like Buzz and Woody.”

“Didn’t they start off hating each other?”


	2. Smudged

“You know, I’m not convinced about this group therapy business.” 

Virgil clenched his jaw. God, someone was talking to him, why was someone talking to him? He slipped his headphones around his neck, slowly turning his head to face the man.

The first thing that struck Virgil about him was his smile. It seemed a little too wide, too sharp. One side of the man’s face was smudged (vitiligo maybe? Or some kind of scar?). He, like Virgil, didn’t dress with the warm weather in mind and was covered from head to toe in black. Black leather jacket, black jeans, black gloves, black beanie. 

Virgil cleared his throat, switching off his music. “Huh?”

“Group therapy,” the smudged man said. “All it really is, is people yelling at each other, you know? I’ve been to it before. Can be dangerous too when emotions get too high.” The corners of his mouth stretched into an even wider smile. “You can’t trust strangers, after all.” 

Virgil blinked dumbly. “Um. You’re a stranger.” 

The man chuckled. “True, true.” He stretched his fingers and rolled his shoulders, eyes fixed on Dr Picani’s office door. The waiting room was completely empty, no secretary, no other patients, just him and Virgil. “I wouldn’t bother if I was you,” he drawled. “As I said, group therapy doesn’t work, I’ve read studies. Besides, you don’t seem like the kind of person to have the...stamina for it.” 

Virgil tried to speak, but his mouth felt glued shut. 

“If I were you, I’d just walk out. They won’t miss one extra person, I saw the group earlier and they have plenty. Too many, I’d say.” 

Virgil felt as though someone was pushing down on his shoulders, keeping him in his seat. A phantom lump formed in his throat, filling his lungs with something thick. He couldn’t breathe. 

The smudged man stood up, brushing down his jeans. “Come on, let’s go, there’s no real point in staying.” 

Why couldn’t he speak? 

At any other time, if anyone else had started saying shit like this to him Virgil would have walked away, but something kept him in his chair. 

“Virgil?” 

Virgil blinked. “Huh?” 

Dr Picani stood by his door, his head slanted curiously to one side. “You alright there?” he asked. “You’ve gone starfish again.” 

“Oh. Right.” Virgil shook his head. “Just nervous, I think.”

Dr Picani’s expression softened. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.” He gestured to the door. “Come on in, most of us are already here.” 

Virgil slowly got to his feet. His knees felt shaky, probably just the nerves. He took in a deep breath, held it, and stepped into the office. 

Two men looked up from Picani’s couch as he entered, both balancing on the very edge of either side to seemingly be as far away from each other as possible. 

The man on the right side of the couch grinned and raised his hand in a half-wave. “Hello there!” His voice was loud, too loud for Dr Picani’s tiny office. He looked like a weird mix between a sports star and thespian: brown hair, white letterman jacket with red and gold trim.

The other man, the one on the left, moved forward in his seat and held out his hand for Virgil to shake. “Logan, pleasure to meet you.” He said bluntly. 

“Virgil,” he said, taking his hand. Logan’s handshake was textbook, firm and to-the-point and stark opposite to Virgil’s clammy hand. 

Logan nodded and gestured to the section of couch between him and letterman-jacket. “Please, sit,” he spoke with the authority of an oxford professor, “That’s Roman.” 

“Oo!” Dr Picani grinned. “Roman, Logan, you’re a poet and you didn’t even know it.” 

Logan stared blankly at him. “If I was a poet, I would have been disowned for that slant rhyme.”

Virgil bit his lip. He had a feeling this was some kind of inside joke, but at this point he was too afraid to ask. He settled down between the two of them, his arms glued to his sides. Dr Picani’s office was cramped enough with two people, having four was practically suffocating. 

Logan cleared his throat, his hands folded neatly on his lap. “Can we start now that we’re all here? We were supposed to start at ten and it’s already five past.” 

“Sorry, we’ve got a bit of white rabbit situation here,” Picani said, eyeing the door. 

“There’s more?” Virgil winced as his voice squeaked. 

Dr Picani nodded. “Only one more.”

Logan frowned but nodded all the same. He sat, back straight, with his eyes locked on the door like he was hoping to burn a hole through it. 

Virgil just looked at his hands. Chances were one of these men were the one to draw the picture. Thomas’ picture. He could ask, he could just point at the corkboard and ask who drew it and get an answer, but then what? They’d ask why he wanted to know and he’d have to try and explain that Thomas was...well... _ his _ . He belonged in Virgil’s head, not out in public where anyone could see him. 

“Heyo!” 

Virgil practically hit the ceiling as the office door slammed open. 

“Patton, welcome,” Picani waved. 

“I’m sorry I'm a bit late, kiddos.” The man, Patton, held out a cardboard try. “I bought coffee and, well, you know how long lines can get sometimes.” He plonked himself down on the couch between Virgil and Logan, forcing Virgil to scoot a little closer to Roman. 

God, why couldn’t Picani have a bigger couch? He was going to suffocate at this rate. 

“Now. I got a few different ones,” Patton continued. “It’s my superpower, you see. I always know what drink suits a person best.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “That’s a kind gesture--uh, Patton is it?--but that’s statistically impossible.”

“He was being hyperbolic, Specs,” Roman said.

“Oh, no, no,” Patton shook his head. “I’m deadly serious.” His hand wavered over the cups for a moment before he picked one. “Caramel Macchiato with soy, fooooor,” he looked around the room, “you!” he held it out to Roman. 

Roman looked a little taken aback but took the cup all the same. “That sounds a little sweet,” he said dubiously, taking a sip. “Wow, nevermind, this is delicious.”

Patton grabbed another cup. “White hot chocolate with extra whip and marshmallows for the doctor.” 

“Thank you, Patton,” Dr Picanic took the cup and instantly popped off the lid to scoop the half-melted mallows into his mouth. 

“Black, two sugars for you,” he shoved a cup under Virgil’s nose. 

Virgil murmured a thank you and held the cup tightly with both hands. He didn’t want to admit it, but that was his exact usual order. 

“A Galaxy Sky frappuccino for me,” he took a sip of the sickly sweet concoction. “And that leaves the last cup for you.” He placed the tray, and the remaining cup, on Logan’s lap. 

Logan shoved his glasses up his nose. “You got lucky, I’ll admit, but I’m afraid to say I don’t like coffee.”

Patton beamed. “Then it’s a good thing I got you tea.” He tapped the lid. “Earl grey with the bag taken out.” 

Logan’s eye twitched. 

“Well!” Dr Picani set down his cup. “Now we’re all here, how about we get this party started, huh?” 

“Please,” Logan was practically begging. 

“I’m glad you so enthusiastic, Logan. Why don’t you start us off and tell the group why you’re here?”

“Very well.” he cleared his throat. “My editor demanded I go here because she does not understand my superior lifestyle choices and claims that I, quote, ‘am more of a robot than a human’. Does that answer the question?” 

Picani’s smile didn’t falter, not even for a second. “She cares about you.” 

“That’s one way of putting it.” 

Virgil focused on the steam rising from his cup. Logan definitely wasn’t the one who knew about Thomas. He tried to imagine Logan bent over a sketchbook, charcoal pencil in hand but it just didn’t work. The most artistic thing Logan seemed capable of was building little ships in glass bottles. 

“Roman,” Dr Picani prompts. 

Roman wrung his wrists. “Oh, pretty much the same thing.” He spoke with his hands. A lot. “I’m alright, really.” 

Dr Picani sighed. “Ooookay. Patton.” 

“Oh, I just needed a bit of a pick me up is all.” Patton beamed. 

Virgil slumped lower in his seat. So far the only ‘situation’ they had in common was not needing therapy. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. He definitely did. Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for Dr Picani to call on him. 

_ I struggle with anxiety, _ that should be enough, right? They wouldn’t need more than that, they wouldn’t need to know just how crazy he actually was. 

“Virgil?” 

Finally. He sucked at his teeth, trying to return some kind of moisture to his mouth. “Um. I have GAD--Uh, General Anxiety, I mean.” 

_ Nice going, asshole. You can’t even go five minutes without screwing something up. _

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah...that’s really it.” 

Dr Picani nodded. “Right. Now, as you all know I like to have a particular topic I focus on during my sessions: today I wanted to focus on imaginary friends.” 

Virgil’s stomach twisted. “Huh?” Right, he supposed that made a bit of sense. Thomas was his imaginary friend, but what about the others? He could picture Patton having one well enough, maybe even Roman, but Logan? 

He glanced over at Logan, who hadn’t even flinched.

“I don’t have imaginary friends,” he deadpanned. “They’re frivolous inventions made by and for children, not fully grown adults.” 

Patton took a long, slurping sip of his frappuccino. 

Logan’s eyebrows shot up his head. “You cannot be serious.” He turned his gaze to Dr Picani. “Why have you lumped me together with a group of....pardon my language, slow-witted man-children?” 

“Hey!” Roman snapped and Virgil had to lean away to avoid getting smacked by his flailing hands. 

“Case and point.”

Picani raised a hand to silence Logan. “Hey, now. No need to be so mean.” 

“I’m not being mean, I’m simply stating a fact.” 

“So Thomas isn’t an imaginary friend, then?” 

Virgil’s stomach plummeted like a stone. He felt his lip quiver. 

Thomas. Like  _ his _ Thomas. Like the Thomas on the wall. Imaginary Thomas.

Logan’s jaw clenched. “He is a character I created, nothing more.” 

“And isn’t that a type of imaginary friend, in a way? They’re just good ideas and it just so happens that you’ve all chosen not to forget them.” 

Roman cocked his head to the side. “Fosters?” 

Picani beamed. “Yep. But that’s beside the point. Imaginary friends in adulthood are nothing to be ashamed of, Logan. They’ve been can be a completely valid coping mechanism and has been proven to improve social skills and creativity as well as alleviate anxiety.” 

“In  _ children _ ,” Logan said sternly. 

“Adults too. Really, Logan, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“It’s no different to making up a story,” Roman said. “You’re a writer, correct?” 

“I’m a journalist,” Logan corrected. 

“Then why create a character if you write non-fiction?” 

“Because, I also,” Logan sighed, “dabble in fiction.” 

“Logan here is a published author,” Dr Picani added. “Well, almost. When’s the release date again?”

If looks could kill Dr Picani would have keeled over on the spot. “Next month,” he spat. 

“And you wrote this as an outlet, yes?” 

“I  _ wrote _ it to get this....fantastical irritation out of my system.” 

Patton clapped his hands. “Oh, that’s so cool, Logan! What’s it about? What’s it called?” 

Logan sighed. “I don’t see what that has to do with therapy. We’re wasting time.”

“Oh, please! It sounds interesting.” Patton pouted his lips. “Pretty please.” 

Another sigh. “If you must know, it’s called…” he rolled his eyes “The Ultimate Storytime--I didn’t pick the title for the rec--” 

“Wait!” Roman’s voice echoed around the small office. “Storytime as in... _ storytime?! _ ” he asked, putting emphasis on the  _ story.  _

Logan seemed genuinely taken aback. “Yes...exactly like that.” 

“Oh!” Patton cocked his head to one side. “Storytime like the….” he waved his hands as though he was hoping to pluck the answer out of thin air. 

“Vine,” Virgil and Roman said in unison. 

The room went quiet for a long moment. 

Dr Picani laughed, and for the first time since Virgil had met him, there was an undercurrent of nerves to the sound. “Now I know how you feel, Logan. What’s the reference? What am I missing?”

“My book,” Logan muttered. 

“ _ Your _ book!?” Roman snapped. “Thomas is my character!” He pointed to the pinboard. “He’s been around since I was….for as long as I can remember!” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Are you accusing me of stealing from you?” 

“What else could you have done? I created him.” 

“I’d hate to interrupt, Kiddos.” Patton waved a hand. “But your Thomases sound a  _ lot _ like mine.” 

“Yours?!” Roman asked. 

“Well, yes. Mine. My little imaginary friend Dr Picani was talking about.” 

Virgil couldn’t breathe again. He was drowning. Dying on dry land. The office walls bore down on him. Roman was too close, too loud, moving too much and they were all talking about Thomas. 

“I don’t know how, but you’ve both managed to steal my character,” Roman continued, stabbing a finger at both of them. 

“I’ve been writing The Ultimate Storytime for over a year now, I didn’t know of your existence until twenty minutes ago. If anyone is guilty of stealing it would be you.” 

“How  _ dare _ you! I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” 

_ Stop it. Please Stop. _

“A falsehood, clearly.” 

_ Stop it. _

“Come on now, Kiddos. Maybe we could turn the volume down just a little? Calm down a bit--”

_ Stop it. Stop it. Stop it! _

“I am perfectly calm!” Roman screamed. 

Words exploded from Virgil’s lips. “Shut it, Princy!” 

The other men froze. 

Roman’s head slowly turned to face him. “What did you just call me?” 

Virgil’s voice jumped back down his throat. “I don’t know,” he croaked. 

Dr Picani finally spoke up. “I think we all need to calm now. Roman, Logan, is it possible that you may have just invented similar characters?” 

Logan shook his head. “This isn’t a matter of two characters being similar, these are two characters...maybe even four, who are exactly the same.” He adjusted his glasses. “It cannot be a coincidence, it’s all too detailed.” 

“It’s not a coincidence,” Roman muttered under his breath. “It’s theft.” 

It took all Virgil’s willpower to not elbow him. 

“Yes...Well.” 

Virgil had never seen Dr Picani at a loss for words before. 

“Maybe we should cut this short?” Patton suggested. “Gather our thoughts and come back next week when we’re not so…emotional.” 

Logan scoffed. “I’m hardly emotional.” He stood up, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I’m sorry for any commotion I may have caused,” he nodded to Dr Picani.”

“Oh, uh.” The doctor managed to regain his usual smile. “It’s alright. After all, if every porkchop were perfect,”

“We wouldn’t have hotdogs,” Virgil answered under his breath. 

\---

“Virgil, was it?” 

Virgil had figured the ally down the side of Dr Picani’s office would be empty enough for him to calm down. His social-interaction quota was way beyond full at this point. All he wanted to do was go home, climb into bed and not move for at least the next century. 

But alas, here was Logan, talking to him. 

“Yeah.” Virgil winced at how tired his voice sounded, his tone thick and heavy. 

“I’m sorry for what happened inside. Roman seems to be the overemotional type and you have to understand, I’m rather protective of my intellectual property.”

“Uh...yeah. It’s fine.” Virgil rubbed his temple. “Look, what do you want?” 

Logan didn’t even flinch at his bluntness. “Roman was right, this cannot be a coincidence, but I am not convinced it is something as simple as theft either.” He wrinkled his nose a little. “Logically, that would be the best explanation, but unless you are all ARC reviewers of my novel...and the chances of that are sub percentages at best.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a card. “I’ve given the others one too,” he said as he handed it over. 

_ Logan Sanders. Reporter. _

“It took Roman some convincing, but I think it’s best that we keep in touch. I want to get to the bottom of this.” 

Virgil couldn’t think of anything to say, he just stared down at the card. “Yeah.” He finally managed. 

Logan nodded, Virgil guessed that was the closest he’d ever get to seeing the man smile. “Thank you.” 

With that he walked away, leaving Virgil to wonder how best to tell him his full name. 

Virgil Sanders. 


	3. The Fam Chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short. 
> 
> TW: anxiety being anxiety. Spiders.
> 
> Thanks Maya Zulf for editing.

“I’m home, Garfield,” Virgil muttered as he closed the front door. His apartment was small, but it suited him fine: a bedroom, a living room, kitchenette and bathroom, each one so small he could stand in the middle of the carpet and touch the walls without moving his feet. Admittedly, this wasn’t helped by the fish tank that took up an entire corner of his living room. 

Virgil knelt down on the floor beside it and opened the lid. “You wouldn’t believe the shit that happened today.” He reached his hand inside the tank, holding his palm flat. “I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Picani panic.” As he spoke a plump wolf spider creeped out from her hiding place within the tank and climbed onto his hand and up his arm, stopping to perch on his shoulder like a parrot. 

Virgil knew he should really just go to bed, he was running on coffee alone and his eyes felt so heavy that they were threatening to fall out of their sockets. But he didn’t, he just kept babbling to Garfield. 

It was easier, talking to something that couldn’t talk back. 

“It feels like a bad, fucking, dream,” he said as he settled down on the lumpy couch he’d pinched off the roadside. He reached for his laptop almost automatically, opening up google. 

_ Logan Sanders, _ he typed into the search bar. 

2, 690,000 results in .06 seconds. 

Most of the first page was taken up by news articles, mainly to do with scientific phenomena and achievements. 

The headlines alone were enough to make him start to doze off and the articles themselves weren’t that much better. Cold and clinical and full of words he didn’t understand. 

_ Logan Sanders, Ultimate Storytime, _ proved a little more fruitful. Some interviews with Logan about the book, ARC reviews, adverts, the works. 

He clicked on images and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The cover was relatively simple, a smoke-swaddled silhouette of a man with  _ The Ultimate Storytime _ in red and yellow writing. 

It looked strangely familiar. 

_ It’s storytime! _ The words popped into his head. Thomas’ voice. 

He closed his eyes and saw Thomas sanding on a stage, a wide grin spread across his face. Virgil had always imagined that Thomas was the kind of person to not be bothered by talking to strangers, the kind of person who’d have no issue asking any random person to help out with a video and skit. 

_ Storytime! Narrating the lives of strangers. _

It took a special kind of person to be able to do that without being punched square in the face. 

It took a person who didn’t have a hope of existing. 

The cursor hovered over a link to a sample of the first chapter of the book. 

All he had to do was click. Click and read and see that this guy, this character, totally and wholeheartedly was  _ not _ Thomas. But something held Virgil still, his finger raised and ready to click. 

Garfield climbed up the back of his neck, getting lost in his hair. 

He clicked back to the google home page. 

Searching  _ Roman Sanders _ just linked him to a couple of social media pages. Virgil had never been one for social media himself and kept all of his post private, the idea that strangers could just look at him and his life made him want to throw up. What if he said something wrong? What if he made a dumb post that went viral and people turned up at his house? 

Roman didn’t seem to share Virgil’s worries, as his instagram had two new posts everyday without fail. Most of them were selfies sporting captions like  _ Disney Marathon Time! _ And  _ #Selfiesteem! _

“Try hard,” Virgil muttered, opening Roman’s facebook in a new tab. He was surprised to find a notification waiting for him. 

_ Patton Sanders wants to be your friend! _

Virgil’s heart jumped to his throat. How the hell did he find him? All he’d given was his first name! There must be hundreds of Virgil’s out there and besides, he didn’t have a profile picture, just an image of the  _ Welcome to the Black Parade _ album cover. 

Cognitively, he knew he could just ignore it. Patton would just think he’d sent a request to the wrong person and move on with his life. But something deep in his gut told him that the other man would  _ know _ somehow. 

_ He’ll know and he’ll be angry and he’ll hate you and he’ll tell Dr Picani and the others and they’ll hate you too.  _

He clicked accept.

Before he had time to take a breath, a message popped up on his screen. 

_ Patton Sanders has added you to ‘The Thomas Fam’ groupchat. _

Virgil cringed. 

Patton Sanders: I found Virgil!

Roman Sanders: The emo one? 

Virgil rolled his eyes. 

Virgil Sanders: who were you again?

Roman Sanders: I’m Roman of course!

Patton Sanders:  I’m tryin to find Logan too. I’m starting to think he doesn’t have one :(

He attached a gif of a cartoon cat hiding sheepishly behind it’s paws. 

Roman Sanders:  Everyone has Facebook these days! It’s basically a human right!!!

All the exclamation points were starting to give Virgil a headache. 

Patton Sanders: I think I found his Linkedin, sendin message now! Brb

He added another gif, this one of the same cartoon cat doing a little jig surrounded by party balloon. 

Virgil’s fingers hovered over the keys. He knew, in theory, that he should say something. That he should try and make some kind of conversation, Roman could see him lingering there, could see he was online. 

Just as he went to turn his profile to invisible mode a new message popped up on his screen. 

Roman Sanders: Is no one going to mention the name thing?!

Virgil drew in a deep breath. Someone was going to bring it up sooner or later. Garfield wandered down his arm as he typed. 

Virgil Sanders: coincidence

Roman Sanders : It’s a huge one if it is! I didn’t even know there were four Sanders in the city!! Let alone my therapy’s office!!!

Virgil Sanders:  i wonder if he noticed

Roman Sanders: He would have mentioned it surely? He would have thought we were related!

Virgil tried to imagine Roman sat with him at Thanksgiving dinner. Virgil’s family line, from what he could tell, were all the quiet introverted types. They didn’t bother with exclamations and hand gestures, they just kept to themselves.

Virgil Sanders:  well were not so….yeah

Roman Sanders: Thank God! No offence, but you’re a bit of a downer. 

Virgil Sanders: feelings mutual

Roman Sanders:  Can I ask you a question???

Virgil felt himself sink lower in his seat. He’d rather die and rot in hell than answer this asshole’s questions, but he couldn’t just say no. It wasn’t allowed. 

Virgil Sanders: i guess

The little ‘Roman Sanders is typing’ message lingered there for what felt like forever.

Roman Sanders:  Why did you call me Princy??

The question surprised him slightly. 

Virgil Sanders: dunno. i start yelling shit when im nervous usually it doesnt make sense

God, he was making himself sound insane. Where was Patton? Why wasn’t he back yet? 

_ Just log off, _ he told himself. That was what they’d said in all those cyber safety lessons in high school. If you don’t like what the other person is saying you just log off--

Roman Sanders: Well, I love it! You know, it was my dream to be a prince when I grew up.

Virgil Sanders:  prince isnt a profession.

Roman Sanders:  I WAS A KID CHARLIE FROWN!

Roman was interrupted by a gif of a cartoon cat holding a stop sign.

Patton Sanders: I don’t wanna interrupt kiddos, but I talked to Logan. He wants us to meet up at his place at 18:00 (that’s 6pm) on the 9th. Can you guys make it? Cause I don’t think he’s gonna change the time. 

Cue a cartoon cat with its tongue sticking out. 

_ Make an excuse _ ! Virgil’s reaction was practically instinctual. Make an excuse and stay home. Say you’re working that night. Say anything. Delete your facebook and never talk to these people again. 

Virgil lifted Garfield back onto his shoulder. 

Virgil Sanders:  i can make it

**Author's Note:**

> [Writing Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/250bDnZ5V3KCmrJSGvhgGK)
> 
> Come bother me on [tumblr](https://bbcotaku.tumblr.com/)


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